


Bad Kid

by Bearslayer



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Angst, Mentions of Death, Suicidal Ideation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-18
Updated: 2016-11-18
Packaged: 2018-08-31 16:38:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8585902
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bearslayer/pseuds/Bearslayer
Summary: Returned to his former self, Oswald receives a visitor.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Based on a prompt received at mindlessgothamite.tumblr.com; a line from a randomly selected song, which was in this case "Bad Kids" by Lady Gaga. Requester asked for Elijah and Oswald interaction. 
> 
> Takes place between episode 2x19 and 2x20.

Oswald dug the knife into the dining room table, eyes vacant and face devoid of expression. Glancing to his side, he looked at her, the faintest sneer curling his lips as he regarded the woman.

“You've really let yourself go, Grace.” He said, voice the vaguest bit amused. Removing the knife from the hole he was digging, he slammed the tip into her cold, out-stretched hand, leaving it there as he leaned back.

The past days had been a fog made heavy with a torrent of previously suppressed emotions. The sorrow of losing his father in a way so similar to losing his mother, the rage of once again having someone he loved stolen from him, the twisted delight he took in his deplorable revenge; each feeling crashed within Oswald in a way that was familiar and almost comforting. He felt at home with this pain, soothed by it in a way that being a “good person” had failed to. Violence and suffering were the dual edges of the blade with which Oswald would carve out his place in the world.

But for the moment, he was having a hard time getting started. It had been a long time since he was himself, after all, and for one to thrive in such extremes, one must first become accustomed to them. The waking nightmare that was his current life took getting used to. Sometimes he had no desire at all to continue, praying that death would take him to ease the ache. Sometimes he wanted to leave the home to carry on, but couldn't bring himself to step outside the home. He hadn't slept for days save for a solitary liquor induced blackout, and eating had become something altogether secondary on the list of his needs. 

Mostly, he spent his time drinking to excess and destroying things in the home. He tore down every reminder of Grace and her wretched children, from the paintings of them to the furnishings they favored. Now and again he watched the news to keep up with Gotham – and to keep at least half a foot in reality. 

Azrael. The newest villain in Gotham, another crazy with a costume and vendetta. Oswald had followed the story closely because it intrigued him... but when it was announced who the man really was, he was inconsolable for a time, rambling to the corpse of his dearly departed step-mother about the injustice of reality, about how unfair it was that the man who had taken his mother away had somehow been given a second chance.

Now, he just sat at the table, staring off into nothing as the hours whittled away, fire burning low in the fireplace in the other room. He might just sit in the dark that night, lacking the energy to do much else. 

“Oswald...” The sound of a voice jolted him from his daze, and from Grace's hand he wrenched away the knife. If he was to die he would do so in the manner he wanted, not some stranger seeking him out in his own home.

“Who's there? Show yourself!” He shouted into the empty room.

“Oswald... Please...” The voice was male, but that was the only thing he could gather from it. It sounded far away, detached somehow.

Oswald stood shakily, holding the knife close, ready to strike out at whatever vile person had desecrated his home with their presence. He had been enjoying the solitude – or at least he'd been enjoying no one trying to kill him in that particular stretch of time. 

“Who are you? What do you want?” Oswald replied as he walked towards the voice. His senses were suddenly crystal clear, the sort of focus that always cropped up when he was threatened.

“Oswald...” The voice grew closer as Oswald inched toward the lounge.

“Show yourself, now!” Oswald commanded.

When he reached the doorway, the knife fell from his hands, clattering noisily on the wooden floor. His jaw had fallen open, eyes wide as saucers. Surely this was a dream? A nightmare? There was nothing rational about the sight that greeted him as his heart once again flooded with a wave of unfettered pain. 

There, standing in the lounge, was his father. His father, who had died in his arms, who had been poisoned by the wretched creature whose husk he still hadn't disposed of. He was wearing the night gown Oswald had seen one night while the man walked in his sleep. Elijah's face was gray and pale, almost blue. The sight of him caused Oswald's stomach to turn.

“... Father?” He choked out, tears filling his open eyed. 

“Oswald... My boy. Please don't cry.” Elijah's smile was warm but his brows were furrowed with worry.

“What... What's going on? You aren't real. I've lost my mind, I'm hallucinating. This can't be real.” Oswald reasoned, backing away slightly. 

Elijah moved towards him. His feet did not touch the ground.

“Oswald, I know you're scared. I'm sorry – I don't mean to frighten you.” The spectre moved closer, mere feet from him. 

“You're dead! This isn't real!” Oswald reassured himself, sobbing out loud.

“I am real, Oswald... but I don't have much time. Please, let me speak to you for just a few moments before I have to leave.” Elijah's voice was gentle, pleading. Oswald's fingers clenched into fists, unkempt nails digging into his palm to try and calm himself. His father. He had come to see him, one last time. Oswald had never been superstitious, but who was he to question what was in front of him? 

“I – I'm sorry, father. I was frightened. Things have been difficult, and I – I've been... having a hard time.” Oswald spoke softly, staring at the ghostly creature that claimed to be his departed father. 

“I know, Oswald, and I'm so, so sorry that things happened the way they did. I never meant to leave you. Not so soon.” Elijah closed his eyes as he spoke, deep remorse in his inflection. He moved back towards the lounge, looking into the fire. Oswald followed, movements almost mechanical, standing at his side and looking to him. Tears continued to stream down his cheeks.

“It was her fault... She took you from me.” Oswald refused to close his eyes, afraid that Elijah would disappear if he did.

“I was foolish to believe in her, but love makes a man foolish. I'm only sorry that it caused you such pain. You've been through so much, Oswald. The storms you've weathered are terrifying to think of. You're my son, through and through – perseverance has kept this family going since the old days.” Elijah smiled, watching him. 

“I do not know how much more I can take. For the last few days all I've been able to think about is – is joining you and mother.” Oswald admitted.

“Oswald, no! You cannot!” Elijah's pale eyes went wide, one hand reaching out. Oswald reached out his own to take it. To his surprise, it was solid and warm. He pressed his forehead to the man's knuckles.

“Death would greet me as an old friend... One who I have given countless lives to. I do not deserve to live while good people, people like you and mother, die. Because of me.” Oswald held his hand against his forehead, head bowed in a way that was almost reverent. 

“My boy... You can't think that way. In this life, there is no good and bad; just countless souls scraping and clawing to try to make something out of it. You aren't a bad man, not to me. You're a product of the world around you, yes, but so much more than that. There's passion in everything that you do, Oswald. All of your anger, all of your pain... It makes you that much stronger. Embrace it, Oswald. Make something from it, like you've done so many times before. This pain you bear can lead you to amazing things, my son, good or bad. There's so much more that you can do in this world. You're needed here.” Elijah told him, his other hand moving to Oswald's hair to stroke it, tender and caring. A calm began to wash over him as his father spoke, and though the tears did not cease, a smile began to cross his lips.

“It's hard not to think that way, father. I'm all alone in the world without you, without mother.” Oswald looked up into the man's ghostly eyes.

“Alone? You're never alone, Oswald! Your mother and I are always with you.” Elijah chuckled softly.

“Mother...” There was a question that Oswald could not bear to voice; it became caught in his throat.

“We've become reacquainted since my... departure.” There was a joy in Elijah's eyes when he said it, a joy so contagious that Oswald laughed aloud.

“Really? That's so wonderful! I – father, does... does she forgive me for the things I have done? I have to know.” Oswald managed.

“There's nothing to forgive, Oswald. She loves you so dearly that it surprises me that you don't feel it still... that you didn't hear her laughter when you, er, ended Grace.” Elijah sounded a little uncomfortable at that, but managed a chuckle.

“Please tell her I love her, and, and that I'm so s--” Oswald began to stammer.

“Oswald, my boy... she knows. She's always known. And she wants to hear no more of this self-pitying. Which I agree with. You are meant for great things, son. Fame, power... love. Gotham needs you.” Elijah told him, voice stern but somehow gentle at the same time.

“I – what am I to do, father? This world has been so cold without you two.” Oswald bit his lip a little, still gripping his hand, scared to let go.

“That, I cannot tell you. But you are a very clever man, so I have every bit of faith that it will come to you. Your mother and I believe in you,” Elijah looked into his eyes as he spoke, “and I need for you to remember that, and be the brave soul that I know you are.”

“I – very well, father... I will do what I can to make you and mother proud.” The calm that filled Oswald was so soothing that he began to feel tired for the first time in days.

“We already are, my darling boy. But it can't hurt to have more to brag about.” Elijah smirked in a way that was eerily similar to Oswalds. “I must leave now, Oswald... I love you more than you know.”

“I love you too, father. I wish that you could stay.” He admitted.

“I know. I do too. Goodbye for now, son.” 

With that, the apparition was gone. Oswald was alone again, but none of the fear or pain he had felt before could get to him. Whether the vision was real or not, it had empowered him to do what needed to be done. The first order of business was to put Theo Galavan back down, this time for good.

Sinking into a chair, Oswald resolved to leave the house and save Gotham... but not until he'd had a decent night of sleep.


End file.
